JLA 1933
by Arseni
Summary: In the 1930s, in a parallel world, the JLA doesn't exist. Now, three of it's should-be heroes must join together to defend the people that depend on them and sow the seeds of their common destiny.
1. The Lantern

It's a hot night in Coast City. Flatfoot's shuffling the streets looking for trouble he knows he can't handle. Hell, most of 'em have climbed right into the mob's pockets; better to get two bucks knocked off in a speak than get shot for free. This one just finished a round, it looks like. His damn drunk is still hanging, giving that zombie stagger. Christ, what I would give for things to change around here.

Down a ways from this boozer, not even a thousand feet, that's where I see him. It's just a thug, some poor, miserable bastard shaking down a skirt like a rag doll. Hard to tell for sure, but he's probably some hobo, maybe even a vag. Even less luck than fake two-faced coin. But what can you do? He isn't the first. Not since this depression hit the country like a hammer for a carnie game. And it looks like that she just became the bell.

Like I said, poor bastard.

The revolver appears in his hand like magic. He managed to hide it from me, and that's saying something. He's getting angry now, screaming at this broad. She begs him to stop, saying she doesn't have any money. Why is he doing this, she asks. She gets shoved to the ground, cold and wet from last night's teary rain. She's crying now, too, sharing in the sky's sorrows that are about to renew themselves in her. Almost that time now.

He yanks back the trigger. The bullet screams out the barrel, right at the woman's head. It strikes my shield just as it's about to strike, just inches away. The green glow of the shield shines in her frightened tears like a star, fading quickly away as she runs off. The goon turns from the shield once he realizes what he's looking at; he knows what's coming. He tries to run, but I stop him. I only have to drop from the sky and this punk's already on the run. A pair of willed shackles and a toss to his ankles later, and I send him to the ground. His head hits the concrete, knocking him out as he's bathed in a glow greener than the money he was after.

I mosey over to the guy, cuffing his hands behind him with my ring. Then I sit him up, propping him against his new red brick mattress. Once he's secure, I do quick fly-over around the block to make sure that he doesn't have any buddies on the way. Not that it matters; gun-toting hobos don't usually hold up against the power of will. One of them did get me once, though, put me in the hospital. 'Course, it wouldn't have done him any good to kill me; the Guardians just would have sent another Lantern who probably wouldn't nearly as forgiving as I am. I smile at the thought, a nameless Lantern riding herd on a planet full of animals they know nothing about.

He doesn't have friends waiting in the wings, so I go back to the would-be mugger. He's awake now. He doesn't say anything to me; just fearing stares. I concentrate and fire off a flare into the grim sky. The clouds don a faint green cloak as the flare hovers, advertising this punk's location to all who see it. The cops know where to find him. I give the vag one last glance before flying off into the night sky.

Hell of a way to start off your night. Hell of a way to start off your beat. Only a couple thousand planets to go.

Guess I better get started.


	2. The Bat of Gotham

The city of Gotham.

A filthy town, filled with filthy people with even filthier motives. And underneath it all, they're all choking on that filth. The city is dying, really.

Every night I fight against the evil that holds Gotham in its grip, desperately trying to hold back the demons – the people I fight for – that are tearing themselves apart. But I know it's a losing battle; I just won't see it.

But then, I can't afford to, really. I'm the Bat. Gotham's dark knight. And I will fight. Right down to the last, I will fight.

It was a hell of a night. Bad enough that I have to sprint across rooftops every damn night, but worse tonight because of who I was chasing. The only man in Gotham, maybe even the world, with endurance to match mine. Of course, that's probably because the son of a bitch is crazy.

Some know him has Red Hood. Others as Jack Napier. Anything you please, really. But I know him all too well. I only know him as one thing, something that all of Gotham fears but are too stupid to realize that they are only helping him do what he does best.

To me, he is simply the Joker.

I'd been hunting down this bastard for the last few months. Now, it culminates in a stinking heist in a bank with money dirtier than the police force. A robbery at Gotham First National, the proverbial nest to Carmine Falcone's egg. Seeing as I'm almost as high on Gotham's most wanted list as Joker himself, I obviously can't work with the cops directly. Lucky for me, I got a tipster right smack in the heart of the precinct, a guy named Jim Gordan. I saved his ass once, so now he helps me out from time to time. Being short on friends, I need all the help I can get in this town.

Guard's statement said that it started just like any other night, lights out and no one around. But that was before they found the package. Poor schmucks had found a big gift box in the guardroom, sitting on their cheap break room card table and trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Only four guards in the joint and every single one was in the room. One of the poor schmucks was damn fool enough to open it. The last thing that he remembers is the box belching out some green cloud and sending all of them into a coughing fit. Then the laughter came. It started as just chuckling, then panicked giggling. By the end, each guard was cackling his head off. Three of them dropped dead pretty soon after, but one made it. Not sure he got a good deal.

The deed had already been done by the time the police arrived. Vault door was blown to hell, every C-note gone. Gordon had been there. Apparently, they had promoted him to detective since the last time we worked together. He said the other cops on scene were pretty quick to point the finger Falcone. Who else would go the trouble of hitting one of the biggest banks in Gotham? But they all knew it wasn't him. Why would you rob a bank that you practically own in the first place?

That's when Gordon found it. You won't find it in any report on the incident, but it was there. A joker card, tucked into the breast pocket of one of the guards. He and I both know that the other officers will conveniently forget to include it in their reports, so he decided to hold onto it for himself.

It's all the proof I need.

I tracked the scumbags Joker duped into pulling the job down to the warehouse district. There's about five of 'em. I can hear them talking about how they're going to spend their ill-gotten gains. One of them was actually planning on using his share to put his kid through college. Boy, would I love to be a fly on the wall when Junior asks where the money came from. I watch from the shadows as they pull the bags from the truck they used for the robbery and loaded them onto an even bigger truck. And that wasn't all.

The second truck was already loaded down with bread bags. Banks all over Gotham had made "contributions" to this haul, and tonight, as it turned out, was the second time that Gotham National had been hit. I didn't know what I had been expecting, but I was damn sure it wasn't this. Almost five minutes had passed before I finally noticed that they were almost done. Within moments, the truck was finally packed to the gills, not a single space empty.

It was time. I loosened the belt on my black trench coat; tightened, it sometimes hindered me and able movement was crucial. I pulled my gloves taut and made sure that mask was secure. Finally, I check my last resort. I feel the weight of the gun pulling at my belt. I always carry it, but I never use it. Then I'm no better than the scum I take down each night.

Still, better to have it and not need it. Now, it was time for the Bat to come out and play.

The guy planning to educate his kid, named Frankie, sauntered over near me with the intention of taking a piss. He found a building's corner just beside a light pole. He whipped out his gat and shot the light out just for fun. I punched his out, but not before he gets a shot off. He misses me, but my cover is already blown. I catch him before he has a chance to fall, watching him go limp in my arms and then lowering him onto the cement.

One down. Four left.

I manage to get my grappling hook out and secured, pulling myself out of sight just as his buddies find him. They already know what they're up against. I could almost see them begin to turn yellow at the realization. I can't hear what they're hissing to each other, but I've heard it before. "The Bat's here. Split up, gotta find him. The boss is gonna kill us," and all that. Same old song.

The goons break up into twos, two going to my left and the others, my right. The two on my right are the first to go. I skim down from my perch and wait until they get close. I manage to get right behind them, hugging the shadows just beyond. Without giving them a chance to react, I take them down. One I threw right into a wall, clocking him instantly. The other got the business end of one of the Bat's famous right hooks. Now to deal with the other two. The bullet rips through my sleeve, giving my arm a new hole. I duck into the alley while these mooks rain more hot iron into the wall as I run. I can hear them running up behind me, squawking about I won't live past tonight. They decide to split up, convincing themselves that they'll be able to find me better that way, but all they've done is make it easier for me to take them out. One of them is coming right up the alley I took, his feet taking him through like the path of a raindrop when it hits a trail of water that's already there, his path already run; he just needs to get there. After what seems like forever, he finally catches up with me. When he sees me, just ten feet away, I can see it in his lit-up eyes. _There he is, _he's saying to himself. _I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill the Bat._

His eyes dim back to ugly normal as quick as they lit up. The rope was set up just to slow him down. I put up the rope, but this idiot did all the work. Full-out sprint, and the rope sent him face first into the ground. Instant KO. This is going great, now. Just one left and then back home to the manor, to Alfred. To normal.

I allow myself brief relish of this situation, despite my knowledge that there's still one guy around here who wants to help me breathe a little better with the aid of a Tommy gun. If you can believe it, I even allow a hollow smile to cross my face, sort of like those paper "masks" from older carnivals that bore only a lawyer's smile to cover your yap. That's what this smile felt like. Fake, static, unnecessary and yet, still good in its way. My reverie is finally broken when I hear the all-too-familiar cock of the Tommy. I didn't think, didn't have the time. I just reacted. We've all heard about how when you kill a man, time seems to slow. That's how this was for me. My hand flew into my coat for the hot iron I was about to deliver. I moved like quicksilver, that much is for sure. But to me, it was like molasses in the middle of December. I flew, but I trudged, ya know? Every second seemed to crawl. I watched the my gun slug its way into position, while the mook's seemed to fly. And, finally, they met. Only two shots were fired, one from me and one from him. His grazed the same arm as before, just two inches from the original wound. He wasn't so lucky. I saw him fall, his free hand clutching his gut. He fell and he bled. It was all he _could_ do.

The realization of what I had just done hit me harder than his body hit the concrete. I had used my gun; I swore to myself that it was strictly last-resort, and I used it out of pure reflex. Now, I had a gut-shot goon on my hands that probably wouldn't last the night. It was all going wrong now. Everything, including this idiot, was shot. The support of the people, what little I had, would be gone, along with Gordon's trust. Now, I was no better than the dirtbags I took down. I can hear the sirens coming, the cavalry conveniently showing up after it's all over. But I could only stand there.

The sirens are close now. It's time for me to go. Tonight, this city of filth just got filthier. And now, I'm one of the filth. Maybe I should start a club.


End file.
